Page 3 of Falling for Them (Cinderella’s Daddies #1)

Three

Sebastian

On Thursday, Kingston’s nowhere in sight when I arrive at Vice.

Usually he’s standing outside, looking impatient.

I’m going to be pissed if he makes me wait long for him.

He knows I hate coming to places like this without him.

He’s the only person who knows this about me, though, and he wouldn’t make me suffer on purpose. So he must be inside.

Sure enough, as I make my way through the entry and past the coat check, I spy him sitting at one of the low tables off to the side of the dance floor.

The prick thinks he’s too good to sit at the bar with everyone else.

Then again, there’s a crowd of younger people all mashed up along the side of the bar, and King probably got annoyed with the scene.

Maybe we’re too old for this place. But it’s the best club in San Esteban.

I’m moving toward King’s table when a man stops in front of me. He has to tilt his head back to look carefully at my face, and I see the moment that recognition really hits home.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Depends on who ‘him’ is,” I say.

The guy gives a little laugh and nudges the woman with him. “Brianna, you know the song ‘Princess’?”

Her mouth falls open in surprise. “No way! They were just playing that an hour ago. I’m a huge fan. Will you sign something for me? Is it rude to ask for your autograph? I don’t want to be rude, but wow, it would really make my night.”

I look over to where Kingston sits. One of his eyebrows his raised sardonically. I say, “Uh, I’m on my way to meet my friend—”

But she’s pulling a half-wrinkled sticky note from her handbag and digging for a pen.

I’d be a dick to say no, so I wait while she finds the pen, and then I autograph the paper.

Not that my autograph is that sought after anymore—I haven’t released a song in years.

I’m only seeing some renewed interest in my music because we’re now in the age of remixes.

Apparently my lyrics are filthy enough that they’re timeless.

The guy shakes my hand and the girl thanks me and wanders off, staring at her prized sticky note.

Sighing, I make my way over to Kingston, feeling old as fuck.

“Hey,” he says with a laugh when I get close, “you’re the one who wanted to come here.”

“Yeah, well, I’m experiencing regrets.”

“We could leave,” he says, moving to stand up.

“Nope, sit your ass down, old man. We’re going to find someone to play with.”

He shakes his head. “Not me. Not tonight.”

“No?” I want to ask him why not, but a server has just glided up to the table.

“What can I get for you?” she asks with a flirtatious wink.

I wink back. “An iced tea would be great, thanks.”

“You got it.”

If she’s disappointed that I’m not ordering pricey champagne or some top-shelf liquor, she doesn’t show it, and I’ll tip her the same either way.

She walks away to retrieve my order, and I turn back to Kingston once more.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I say.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Nothing, really. I’m just not in the mood.”

Fair enough, but it’s so unlike King, so out of the blue.

Usually he’s the one pointing out potential women for us.

He’s great at finding them. Even if they look posh and grown-up, he can find the women who, deep down, want to be treated like naughty little girls.

Those are our favorites. They want spankings, they want to be punished and rewarded.

They want all the twisted things we love doling out.

“You’re going to the gala without a date, then?” I ask, because I know he isn’t seeing anyone seriously enough to ask them.

“Probably. Are you bringing anyone?” He takes a sip of his whiskey.

“I don’t know, maybe.” I accept my iced tea from the server and wait until she has moved on before saying, “I’m bored, King.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

We sit back in the comfortable booth. The DJ plays another of my tracks, mixing it with something pulsing and magnetic.

Look at me, say my name

Give me your all

Your submission, my bliss

Lift up your skirt, princess

Give Daddy a kiss.

King nods to the beat. “That’s not a bad arrangement.”

“I guess not,” I say, watching the dancers. Off to one shadowy area of the dance floor, two men dance on either side of a brown-haired woman. The way they’re moving makes me immediately suspicious.

“Hey, check them out,” I say. “Your ten o’clock.”

He scans the dancers until his gaze lands on the threesome. He grins. “You think they’re up to something? Because I do.”

I nod. That’s fucking hot—the two men are directing the woman exactly the way King and I like to do with our playmates.

King smiles. “Glad someone’s having fun.”

I look away from them, not wanting to make them self-conscious or worried about attracting attention. My focus comes to rest on a familiar face. “They aren’t the only ones. That looks like Joel, over there.”

“We’re getting too old for this place if we’re running into my kid,” King says, his smile disappearing.

“He’s cozy with his date.”

King’s head snaps up and he looks for Joel. “Where are they?”

“Right over by the bar,” I say. “Making out.”

“The fuck?” His eyes widen.

“What is it?” I ask. Joel’s kissing the redhead, but not doing anything else I think King would object to.

“That’s not his girlfriend,” King says. “I saw him with someone at work. What a little prick. I can’t believe I raised that kid.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” I say. “His mother got her claws into him and turned him against you early on.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” he grumbles.

It was, but if he wants to tell himself a different story about it, that’s fine with me, I guess.

“Well, maybe it’s just casual with the other woman,” I say.

“That’s not the impression I got,” King says, frowning in the direction of his son and the redhead.

“Or he’s just screwing around,” I say, “and everyone involved knows the deal. In which case, he’s not cheating.”

King looks thoughtful. And pissed off. But that’s his usual mien, so okay.

I try to check on the threesome who were dancing and possibly getting their woman off on the dance floor, but they’re gone now. Well, wherever they went, I’m sure they’re having a great time. Too bad King and I don’t have a little princess to pamper like those other two lucky fuckers have.

Ella

I like working Fridays and cleaning at Tyler Analytics, because Joel will usually stay even later and he and I have a longer dinner. My stomach rumbles. I worked at my second job at the pub during lunch, but that feels like a long time ago.

The first time I walk past Joel’s office, he’s on his phone and he doesn’t look up and see me. The second time I walk past, though, he stands up and gestures me in. As I step through the door, he quickly moves to the windows that face into the hallway. Frowning, he yanks the blinds closed.

Because wow, how terrible it would be for anyone to even see us speaking in here.

“Hey, I tried to call you last night,” I say.

“Oh, yeah.” He checks that the blinds are covering every last centimeter of glass. Sorry I missed you. I had to help a friend with something.”

That’s weirdly nonspecific. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, Brent’s just going through some stuff.” He tugs me to his side and kisses my cheek. “Come here, baby.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t like it when you call me ‘baby.’”

“No? All right, I won’t, then.” He unbuckles his belt.

“You can at least give me a real kiss, first,” I say, winking.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, of course.” His lips are cold on mine and he tastes like stale coffee. If he knew we were going to mess around, the least he could’ve done was popped a breath mint.

I’d say Joel’s and my relationship honeymoon is over, but I’m doubting it ever began.

“Hang on a sec,” he says, then does something with his computer.

I laugh. “You’re not filming us, are you?”

“What? Film us? No way, babe—I mean, no way. That’s a horrible thing to think.”

He tugs me down to the floor and it’s the same as it always is. We lift up my dress. He pinches and twists my nipples just enough to get me wet, and then he’s asking if it’s okay, and I say yes because I like sex and like a fool, I think maybe this time it will actually be good.

And…it’s fine. I’m aroused. Turned on, now that we’re actually doing the thing and I’m no longer hung up on his bad breath.

I move my hips experimentally, trying to get a better angle, and…

there. Now I’m getting into it. His eyes look a little darker right now, almost like his dad’s.

I wish we were in a different position, but I’m afraid to ask him to move now that I finally found a good angle for his dick to hit inside of me.

Seems a shame we’re on the floor again, though. All this perfectly good furniture. He could bend me over the desk. He could order me to climb beneath it and suck him off while he sits here pretending to work. He could splay me across the couch and rut into me like an animal.

But nope. Here I am on the floor on my back. And it’s like he’s not even trying to make any contact with my clit.

I try to sneak a hand in between us so I can get myself off, but he either isn’t aware of what I’m trying to do, or he doesn’t care, because he doesn’t move to give me room.

So I go somewhere else in my head. A place where I’m in a dominating man’s office and he’s bending me over the desk, lifting up my maid’s uniform and spanking my ass before fingering me to a delicious orgasm.

Is it wrong to fantasize about other things, and maybe other people, during sex? Am I emotionally cheating on my boyfriend? It feels wrong. I shouldn’t do it.

But thoughts of Joel’s father pop into my head—filthy fantasies of punishments and rewards.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” Joel says.

There it is again, baby . After I said I didn’t like it, after he said he wouldn’t.

But as we continue fucking, the word twists in my head.

In my mind, it’s Mr. Tyler saying it, calling me baby , and the term of endearment has an entirely different spin. Suddenly it means I’m a treasured companion, not a fuckboy’s throwaway girlfriend.

Baby girl , Mr. Tyler says in my mind, just before he spanks my ass red.

To my utter surprise, I come, gasping and clutching Joel’s shoulders.

Joel finishes. It wasn’t great, but hey, I climaxed, and that’s unusual with us. I have only myself to blame that I’m not often satisfied, because nobody’s forcing me to stay in this relationship. I thought I could make it work, and I was wrong.

I can’t do this anymore , I think as I straighten my maid’s uniform. I need to tell him. Break things off.

Because thinking about his father while I’m fucking him? That’s all shades of wrong, isn’t it? Why can’t I stop?

Joel grins at me. “Pretty good, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Do it now. Break up with him. No job is worth feeling like crap all the time .

But I need to afford food, rent.

Find another job .

I open my mouth to speak.

“Well, I gotta get back to work,” Joel says, zipping up. “Oh hey, you’re my plus-one for the gala, okay?”

The words on my lips, the ones where I tell him it’s over and I hope we can still be friends, refuse to leave my mouth. I swallow them down and stutter, “The—the gala?”

“Yeah. The company gala. It’s in two weeks. Are you in?”